


Graze

by cardinalrachelieu



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Facial Hair, Facial Hair Kink, Smut, beard, this is literally just 500 words of smut so don't read it if you're not into that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 14:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1902285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinalrachelieu/pseuds/cardinalrachelieu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from <a href="http://www.bellarkewritersnetwork.tumblr.com">BellarkeWritersNetwork</a> on tumblr: Bellamy doesn't shave for a few days for whatever reason, and Clarke secretly loves it. (Credit: bansheeinthedark)</p><p>It was going to be fluffy but then smut happened. Oops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Graze

She feels it every night when her fingertips trace over his jaw, the stubble rough under her touch like a fine grit sandpaper. It never lasts, though. He shaves it off each morning.

But this week is different. She’s not sure why he’s suddenly decided to abandon his normal routine, but she’s not entirely upset about the change. A permanent shadow along his jaw line suits him, she realizes. It adds years to his face, but it also enhances his features. _Striking_ is the word she would use.

That night, when his head is buried between her legs, she comes almost instantly, friction from Bellamy’s stubble lined jaw pushing her over the edge in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

He’s peppering kisses along the insides of her thighs, patiently waiting for her to return to earth, when he chances a sidelong glance at her. Her lids are heavy and barely open, but their eyes meet all the same. Bellamy arches a brow.

“I like your beard,” she manages to pant, palm dragging across her forehead to wipe away the thin layer of sweat that’s accumulated.

He responds with a smirk before slowly twisting his neck so that his cheek brushes against her thigh. It’s feather light, but the gentle scraping sends a bolt of lightning down her spine and she can’t stop the shiver that follows. The self-satisfied grin that lights up his features is unmistakable, and he repeats the process on her other leg, eliciting the same reaction.

He’s slow to drag himself back up her body, kissing a trail as he ascends and letting the abrasive shadow scrape against her where he’d normally try to prevent contact. Clarke’s hips involuntarily buck up to meet him by the time he’s at her neck, biting and sucking at the delicate skin as though he had an eternity to complete the task.

“Bellamy, please.” She’s not proud of the way she whines for him, but she’s too far gone to care about something as unimportant as pride.

He pulls back, a devilish smirk twisting his features. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” And then he’s sinking into her without an ounce of resistance, the slickness of her walls enveloping him until he’s buried to the hilt.

A groan catches in her throat, deep and low, as she wraps her legs around his waist, head lolling back in silent contentment.

“ _Jesus_ , Clarke.” The inflection is a mix between shock and amazement, and his hips are only still for a moment before he begins rocking into her, setting a steady rhythm to the time of her moans.

It’s not long before she begins tensing around him, body going rigid with pleasure as she bites back a scream. He’s quick to swallow it with his mouth before redoubling his efforts.

He knows her and he knows her body, and, if he plays his cards right, he can have her tumbling over the edge again in thirty seconds.

He presses his hands beside her head before lifting his chest, shifting his weight so that he can use one arm to throw her calf over his shoulder. Her core is still pulsing around him when he starts drilling her into the mattress, and she wants to blackout because the jolt of pleasure is so intense.

This time she doesn’t bite back the scream, and it’s his name falling from her lips over and over again as his hips pound into hers. He comes quietly soon after, burying his face into the crook of her neck when he does.

It’s several moments before he’s able to convince his muscles to support his weight again, but then he’s hovering over her, eyes taking in the satisfied glow of her features.

“I’m never shaving again,” he manages.

It’s a lie. His skin is smooth again two days later when the itchiness and irritation of a beard outweighed the benefits of having it.

Clarke thinks her fun is over, thinks that Bellamy decided to return to his daily habit of shaving. Only this time, he lets it grow back.

**Author's Note:**

> I wish I could say that I was ashamed at how a plot was practically nonexistent, but I'm not.
> 
> Reviews give me life, so don't be shy :)


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